Chapter 13 - The Warning
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Nevaeh didn't freeze. Eight years of navigating aggressive, drunk men in high-end restaurants had taught her that hesitation got you hurt.
She ripped off her high heels in one fluid motion, hurling one directly at Dante’s face. The stiletto caught him perfectly in the cheek, making him shout in surprise and drop his aim for a fraction of a second.
It was all the time she needed.
Nevaeh sprinted down the service hallway, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet.
“Get her!” Stella yelled from behind, pure panic bleeding into her voice.
Nevaeh burst through the heavy double doors at the end of the hall, practically colliding with Leandro, who was marching down the corridor looking for her.
“Nevaeh!” Leandro caught her by the shoulders, his eyes wild with sudden fear. “What's wrong? Why are you running?”
“They're going to kill you,” Nevaeh gasped, clinging to his lapels, her chest heaving. “Stella and Dante. The valet team outside are Falcone shooters. They’re planning to hit you on the patio.”
Leandro’s face went completely still. The panic vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying coldness that dropped the temperature in the corridor by ten degrees.
The double doors swung open again. Dante and Stella rushed through, stopping dead when they saw Leandro standing there, shielding Nevaeh behind his massive frame.
Dante tried to hide the gun behind his back, but it was too late.
“Leandro, wait, she's lying!” Stella stammered, her face turning an ugly shade of gray. “The bitch is crazy! She’s trying to tear us apart!”
Leandro didn't yell. He didn't argue. He looked at the sister he had protected his entire life, and he saw nothing but a greedy, poisonous snake.
“You chose poorly, Stella,” Leandro said softly.
He moved with a terrifying, lethal grace. In one fluid motion, Leandro drew a weapon from his shoulder holster and fired a single, suppressed shot.
Dante Falcone dropped to the floor, a bullet in his kneecap, screaming in absolute agony.
Stella fell to her knees, weeping hysterically, begging for her life.
Leandro didn't shoot his sister. He looked down at her with utter, final disgust.
“Marco,” Leandro said calmly into his radio. “Secure the valet team. Lethal force authorized. And send two men to the service corridor. Take my sister to the basement.”
“Yes, Boss,” Marco’s voice cracked over the earpiece.
Leandro holstered his weapon. He turned back to Nevaeh, his eyes dark with adrenaline and fierce protectiveness. He gently cupped her face.
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“Did they hurt you?” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
“No,” Nevaeh breathed out. “I'm okay.”
